The Contagion in the Crystal
by ShadowMaeve
Summary: When the evidence is "out of this world," the Squints get a little help from members of an elite organization that doesn't exist, but will it be enough to stem a zombie apocalypse?
1. Part I

I don't own the rights to _Men in Black_ or _Bones_. They belong to Lowell Cunningham and Kathy Reichs, respectively. I'm just borrowing some lovable characters for a bit of non-profit fun in story whose setting is after _MIB II_ and before Booth became Dr. Bones' Mister/Baby Daddy. This is also my first time delving into these fandoms, attempting something Sci-Fi flavored, and writing about zombies (talk about being a stranger in paradise!) Hope you enjoy it!

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><p><strong>The Contagion in the Crystal<strong>

**Part I**

New York. Tuesday. Galactic Standard Time.

* * *

><p>Aliens. So many and more came each day: an endless stream of rift shifters and refugees, weaving their way through the main terminus at MIB Headquarters. Shooting through wormholes on a warp jump and a prayer, each hoping the quantum leap would lead them to a place of peace and prosperity, a second haven on a small blue marble in the Milky Way. Good folks, most of them, Zed thought, nodding at the slow snaking throng from his office window. <em>Welcome to the Third Rock,<em> he thought. _I only hope we can protect you._

A smell interrupted his already troubled thoughts. Although _smell _was an understatement for an odor so bracing, the slightest whiff of it made decapitation by an oscillating fan seem downright sensible. Even _fetid stench_ didn't do it justice. An insidious olfactory assault, its acrid tang sliced its way with laser precision through every molecule of breathable oxygen in his pristine, executive fish tank. His eyes began to tear; his nostrils threatened to implode.

"You wanted to see me?" asked a voice from the vicinity of the hallway.

As the body belonging to that voice neared the office door, stinkum rippled ahead of it, forcing Zed to reach reflexively for the cool, metal back of the nearest chair. Did K have to bathe in the stuff? Clearly, its application lay somewhere between an industrial-strength paint thinner and extreme form of birth control–and he was certain those vapors weren't good for the chrome. Silently, and as he'd done so many times before, Zed rued the day he'd allowed the Velvarians to market their planet's lake water as an aftershave.

"Zed?"

Zed's eyes flicked to the window. The barest ghost of a reflection winced back at him in its greenish tint. The look on its face said, _End this torture: strike a match._

No escaping it, then. Straightening, he prepared for the inevitable onslaught, a face-to-face consult with one of his most trusted agents. He took a deep breath – or as deep a breath as he dared. Nope, not yet. Still at the window, he said, "We have a situation, K."

The slow, almost calculated scrape of metal over tile that followed this set his teeth on edge.

"What time's the world going to end this week?"

Cloth rustled and plastic squeaked. A fresh cloud of redolence roiled upward and rebounded off the window as K took his seat.

"Maybe sooner than you think." Scowling, Zed braced himself, turned. "The Zolanium Crystal's been stolen."

"That's old news." K shrugged. "Besides, you've got—"

"Trouble. This just hit the newsstands in D.C. this morning." He thrust a copy of _The National Enquirer _at K's chest. "You know what this means, don't you?"

K glanced at the headline: _ZOMBIES ATE MY GIRLFRIEND! _"You sent a boy to do a man's job," he said. "I knew this would happen."

"That's so typical, K!" Zed's meaty fist made a close contact of the frustrated kind with his desk. "Play I-told-you-so when the apocalypse is at our doorstep! And with Agent J on vacation, here I was, feeling guilty about sending you down there alone." Wooziness getting the better of him, he sank into his seat.

K started from his. "No worries, Zed."

"No worries? You know our operatives in the Metro area aren't capable of dealing with a situation of this magnitude," he spluttered. "Most of them can't even operate a simple neuralyzer without it backfiring. I've had to send in two Sweeper Crews already this week – oh, and did I forget to mention that our agent is still missing? The way things are headed, it'll be worse than the Priscillian Desert Migration of '94. What a mess!"

"I'll handle it," K said from the doorway, "on one condition."

"Anything."

"I want my old car back."

* * *

><p>ii.<p>

Something Bloated, Something Blue

Washington, D.C.

Coffee in hand, Special Agent Seeley Booth ducked under the yellow crime scene tape cordoning off one end of the narrow alley. Glass crunched beneath his boots. Sidestepping puddles of something too dark to be rainwater, backlit by a bank of flashing red and blue lights, he made his way to Cam, who squatted beside an inert form. "What've we got?" he asked, although he'd already considered the possibilities and none of them were good: botched robbery, body dump, OD, drive-by, some poor schmuck in the wrong place at the wrong time. Seeley's list of 'What to Do with a D.B. in D.C' was endless in its scope and depressing in its variation. Early morning call-outs were usually bad, but those in Anacostia, one of the Capitol's seediest districts, were the worst.

"Male. Late twenties to mid-thirties. Shot once in the chest at close range." Flashing him a smile, she stood up, stripped off her latex exam gloves, and deposited them in a plastic bag.

"Cream and sugar: just what the doctor ordered." Booth handed her the cup.

"Not a cure for only a few hours of sleep, but it's a start. Thank you." She took a sip.

"Looks like he's been here a while," said Booth, indicating the corpse's bloated stomach and waxy complexion, its cheesy pallor made all the more disturbing by the dawn's gray drizzle. Then there was the suit. Bible black coat and pants, narrow black silk tie, square buckled black belt, white button-down shirt – cotton, not silk:

Dr. Saroyan nodded. "With this rate of decomp, usually, I'd be inclined to agree, but Metro Police just called it in."

"A little overdressed for this part of town, don't you think?"

She nodded. "Given this part of town, I'm surprised he's still in it. His wallet's gone. So are his shoes."

"So it's a dump: someone killed him, kept him, and then dropped him here last night," said Booth.

Cam raised her hand. "Not even close, Booth. I meant what I said before and it's _not_ an approximation: time of death was hours not days ago."

"Two hours?" The words, followed by Booth's sudden and too-loud laugh, ricocheted off the crumbling brick walls of the empty buildings on either side of them. One officer, stationed near the street to divert curious passersby, glared at Booth over his shoulder.

Clearing his throat, Booth lowered his voice and said, "I'm no doctor, Cam, but even_ I_ can see that—ugh!" A gust of wind cut him off. Waving one hand at the remains while covering his nose with the other, Booth retreated to a safer spot downwind.

"Have I ever lied to you before?"

Scissoring his hands over the body, Booth said, "No, but—"

"I haven't even told you the best part, yet. He had bits of flesh between his teeth. _Human_ flesh." Dr. Saroyan flashed him one of her trademark, cat-that-ate-the-canary grins.

"A cannibal corpse?" _Not another Gorgonzola,_ he thought. _Haven't we all had enough of that? _Booth cocked his head and wagged a finger at her. "Now, Camille…"

"Unless you'd like to join our friend here, don't call me that." Her eyes flashed like sparks in the dawn's bleary haze. If you don't believe me, then ask your witness," she indicated one of the patrol cars angled at the end of the alleyway. "A local working girl. She can place him here and very much alive – at least he was before she shot him – at four o'clock this morning."

* * *

><p>iii.<br>An Outrageous Statement

Booth drummed his fingers on the polished tabletop. "Okay, Miss Congeniality—"

"Constantine!" The thin girl with spiky, black hair crossed her arms and glared at him. "Jo Constantine!"

"Whatever. Why don't you try telling the truth this time." He slid a legal pad and pen across the table to her. "Write it all down for me. If I like it, then maybe you'll walk out of here without so much as a solicitation charge. Otherwise, I'm holding you on suspicion of murder."

Sighing, Jo rolled her eyes. "Look, I already told you everything I know. I met him, we went into the alley to—"

"Negotiate," Booth nodded before continuing, "at which point, he started growling, allegedly bit you—"

"Effing freak _did_ bite me! Look!" She thrust her bandaged forearm under Booth's nose. A bloody splotch had blossomed on the gauze wrap. "I thought he was gonna tear my friggin' arm off!"

The Squints would decide if the bite marks were human or not, Booth thought_._ "Okay, so he bit you, and then…"

"It freaked me out! I thought he wanted to – _you know_ – but the whole time, he never spoke – all he did was growl at me, like he wasn't even human or something, you know? And then, he wouldn't – he wouldn't let go – so I – I—" She started to sob.

"Popped him with the .45 caliber pistol police discovered on you at the scene," Booth said.

"I wanna see a lawyer."

"Sure thing," said Booth. "Right after we get you a rabies shot."

* * *

><p>iv.<br>Tweaker Theory

"Bit her? You mean, like a vampire?" Hodgins stared at the body on the autopsy table. "Or would you say he was more a werewolf kind of guy?"

Cam chuckled. "Whoever he was, I found tissue between his teeth, as well as traces of a powdered substance in his nose. Tiny crystals of some kind." She handed Hodgins a small specimen container. "So, until you prove otherwise, I'm going with tweaker."

"That could explain his behavior," said Hodgins.

"Mm-hmm." Cam picked up a scalpel. "Right now, that's the only thing that _does_ make any sense."

"What'd the blood tests show?"

"I just sent samples to the lab. We won't have toxicology or culture results for a couple of days."

Hodgins regarded the body narrowly. "Odd, that there was no evidence of insect activity."

"With this level of tissue degradation, it's odd, alright. There's just no way he could've been up and walking around, much less attacking..." Cam shook her head. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but you know, if I didn't know better, I'd swear—"

"Oh, man, we're thinking the same thing!" Hodgins' face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Dude's a zombie!"

Cam chuckled. "Let's not go there, Doctor."

"Why not? With Dr. Brennan still off identifying skeletal remains in Tibet, there's no one here to _pooh-pooh_ our theory."

"Theory? More like speculation," Cam said, "and you know what she'd have to say about that."

Hodgins grinned. "But Cam, you just said yourself…"

Cam rolled her eyes. "And already regretting it! Let's just stick to science for the time being, shall we? That is, unless you're considering a career change? If you'd prefer to pounce on a paranormal explanation before ruling out a rational one, I hear the TAPS crew in Rhode Island is looking for a new assistant."

"Have it your way." Hodgins started towards the stairs. "But when these babies turn out to be some kind of Voodoo death dust," he shook the container before continuing, "don't say I didn't say, 'I told you so!'"

"The thought never crossed my mind," said Cam.

(To be continued...)


	2. Part II

I still don't own the rights to _Men in Black_ or _Bones_. They still belong to their respective creators and I'm still just borrowing them for a bit of non-profit fun.

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><p><strong>The Contagion in the Crystal<strong>

Part II

* * *

><p>An Afternoon of Assignations and Accusations <p>

"Anacostia, really?" Hannah suddenly found her Cobb salad very interesting. "I'm meeting my contact there this afternoon. Maybe he'll have some ideas for leads in your case." She looked up, just as the waitress stopped at the booth.

"More coffee?" The buxom, dishwater blonde shifted her weight from one foot to another.

"We're fine, Miss… uh… thanks," Booth said, suddenly sheepish that after all the years he'd been a regular at the Royal Diner, he could not recall the name of the woman who'd served him more times than not. Strange, he thought, how you could think you knew someone, but not really know them at all. He watched her walk away. When he was certain she was out of hearing distance, leaning in, he said, "Hannah, I thought we agreed—"

"No. You offered your opinion on the matter and I disagreed. I still do, in fact. So, if we agreed to disagree, then yes, we're in agreement." She stabbed a slice of hard-boiled egg.

"I don't like the idea of you going down there alone." Booth dropped one half of his untouched tuna melt on the plate. "Do you even know this 'Pegg' guy? What the hell kind of name is 'Agent P,' anyway?"

"His name is Shaun. We met at a rendezvous point last week. I told you. I think he's undercover D.E.A., C.I.A.… something like that." Hannah waved distractedly, but then, eyed a spot on the edge of Booth's plate. "Hey, are you going to eat that?" She reached for his pickle.

He shook his head. "Hannah…"

"Mm-hmm?" She slid the spear in her mouth.

"Listen to me! One body's enough. I don't want the next _D.O.A._ on the slab to be yours!"

"I can take care of myself." The tip of the pickle disappeared between Hannah's teeth with a 'snap' that made Seeley's stomach knot.

"I'm coming with you."

"No, Seeley, you're not. You're needed here, and besides, my contact's very skittish. He'd bolt the minute he saw you—or worse–and I want this story, Seeley! I need it!"

"Damn it, Hannah! Last time you went in there, you nearly died!"

She tossed the rest of the pickle on the table. "But I didn't!"

"Yeah, because I was there! In case you haven't noticed, we're not in the desert anymore! I can't come swooping in to save your—"

"I'm not asking you to! I've never asked you to—" She hurled herself out of the booth.

"Hannah, please!"

"In case you haven't noticed, I made concessions – sacrifices – for this relationship, too, Seeley," she said. "The least you could do is trust me! You'd do that much for your precious Tempe wouldn't you?"

"That's not the point and you –" Booth spluttered. "Oh, come one, Hannah!"

She threw her last words over her shoulder before stomping out of the diner, "Don't interfere. I mean it!"

* * *

><p>ii.<br>Angela's Artistry

Cam was up to her elbows in still-unidentified victim when Booth and Angela walked into the room. "Please tell me you found something," she said.

Booth shrugged. "No prints, no dental records, no driver's license, no Social Security or credit cards – the guy was a ghost. More than a ghost–completely off the grid. It's like he never existed."

"Sure seems like somebody wants us to believe that," Cam said.

Angela brightened. "Maybe he was a spy! Or a member of an ultra-secret government agency!"

"You're starting to sound like Hodgins," said Booth. "Stop it."

"Well, this might help. Based on his x-rays, I made a preliminary sketch." Angela opened her sketchbook, revealing a striking young man with long, dark hair. "I took a few liberties–"

"Nice work, Angela," Booth said. "I'll let The Kings of Leon know their drummer's dead."

Cam snorted.

"Everyone's a critic, now?" Angela arched a shapely brow.

No one saw Hodgins slip into the room, snap a picture on his cell phone, and sneak away.

* * *

><p>iii.<br>Lost and Found

The Jersey Turnpike was wall-to-wall gridlock. Sighing, K scanned the Hot Sheets in the passenger seat. Aside from the one-liner in _The National Enquirer_, there was nothing pertinent in the other headlines. Well, that much was a relief. He whistled through his teeth.

His cell phone buzzed. A red star hovered over 'Email' on its tiny menu screen.

It was a message from Hodgins.J , a doctor he'd met at Comic Con a couple years ago. Jack could be a little intense at times, especially when discussing aliens or conspiracy theories, but K had to admit, the guy had a knack for reading between the lines. In fact, he was dead on most of the time, which was nothing short of amazing for a scientist. Especially one affiliated with one of the government's top forensic labs. K chuckled. 'Standard Government Issue' was one thing Dr. Jack Hodgins would never be. K opened the email.

_Anyone you know?_

Beneath the message was a postage stamp-sized sketch.

"Aw, crap." Zed wasn't going to like this at all. K hit speed dial. "Hey, Zed, I know where Agent P is." He listened for a moment. "No, I didn't, a friend of mine at the Jeffersonian just sent me a… Yes, Zed, the Jeffersonian!" Shaking his head, he waited for the burst of expletives on the other end to subside. "I told you, it's under control. No, he's not a Federal Agent. No, he's not _that_, either. Of course I'm sure! Well, if he did, it certainly wasn't with—_what?_"

"… and that was a week ago, K, just like I told you!" Static crackled and then the line went dead.

"Well, it's just the end of the world, again." K popped Elvis in the 8-Track and threw the Crown Vic into hyper-drive.

* * *

><p>iv.<br>Jack Hits a Snag

"Wow, this case just keeps getting weirder and weirder! Those powder samples you gave me?" Hodgins waved at his computer screen. "Take a look."

"Substance Unidentifiable?" Cam scowled. "Surely, Dr. Hodgins, there's been a mistake."

"Not a chance. This database indexes every known chemical compound in the world – well, in _this_ world, anyway. You know what I think, Doctor?" Beaming, he nodded meaningfully.

_First, zombies,_ she thought, _now alien crack. Great._ "I think it means you should run those samples again, Dr. Hodgins. Call me when you find something useful." She turned to leave. "In _this_ world, please!"

While he was used to Cam's brusque demeanor and biting sarcasm, being utterly and completely flummoxed by trace evidence was a new, professional nadir. Arms crossed, Hodgins glared at his computer screen.

'Substance Unidentifiable' glared right back in big, red letters.

He still had enough of the sample left to make a tissue slide. It was a bit of a long shot, but in some cases – rare though they might be – sometimes, the human eye could see what a machine could not.

He'd been staring at the screen too long. Enigmatic as ever, 'Substance Unidentifiable' now seemed to pulse with an inner life: a force that continued to taunt and goad him with its superior inscrutability. It was the forensic equivalent of _Nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah!_

"We'll see about that," Hodgins muttered under his breath.

He placed a drop of the specimen on a clean slide and carefully affixed the cover slip. He clipped the slide into the microscope's stage and aligned the specimen with the aperture. Then, leaning over the eyepiece, he adjusted the magnification and fiddled with the focus.

At first, it looked like a badly dented, green golf ball. An icosahedron, if he wasn't mistaken, but spiky and with knobs on the ends of those spikes. Spiky and knobby… He scratched his chin. Structurally, it bore a striking similarity to HIV, except for its iridescent green coloration. "Okay, so you're some kind of virion," he began, but gasped when one of those supposedly immobile "knobs" inserted itself into the tissue matrix of the late John Doe, and secreted a fibrous, milky substance. As Hodgins watched in horrified fascination, the substance, which now coated the cell's organelles, began digesting—

No, not _digesting_, but–

"Whoa! Whatever you are," he said, "I've never seen anything like you before!"

"That's because it's not from this planet," said the man standing behind him.

* * *

><p>v.<br>Covert Ops

Still fuming, Hannah stomped down the street. How dare he try to coddle her, treat her like some pet! And that crack he'd made about swooping in to save he– the one she'd grown tired of hearing during their short time together.

Stopping at an intersection, she flipped her heavy, blonde hair back and took a deep breath. Her nose immediately wrinkled in disgust. What an annoying little planet this was! Belching exhaust, cars and trucks whizzed past like flies, traffic and crossing lights blinked like baleful eyes, and crowds of people scurried around her like ants. They could've been ants, for all she cared. All of them, so earnest, so industrious, and so focused as they went about their little lives. Ah, but for all their purported might, they were insignificant specks, mere motes in the Universe's eye, and like ants, begging to be crushed.

Hannah smiled. Like that idiot, Pegg. She had special plans for him. Plans that would also soon include his busybody buddies and Seeley. Her eyes narrowed. _Especially_ dear, sweet Seeley Booth, who was always sticking his nose in where it didn't belong; who didn't know who he was dealing with–or _what_.

"Oh, but you will soon enough." She gave her surroundings a wary last glance. It'd be just like him to tail her. When she was satisfied she wasn't being followed–_Because it wouldn't be the first time he pulled __that__ stunt—_ Hannah hailed a cab.

vi.  
>The Contagion in the Crystal<p>

"K!" Hodgins said, turning to him. "So, what is our mystery material?"

"Zolanium." K removed his sunglasses. "In its inert form, it looks like a chunk of crystal meth, but when crushed into a powder and inhaled, it unleashes a deadly virus that causes rapid, systemic apoptosis in the host organism – especially in brain tissue."

"Then it should be fatal," Hodgins said, "But just now, I saw–" He waved at the microscope.

"The next stage." K nodded. "Mutation, occurring after cellular death, followed by immediate reanimation of the host body independent of the need for oxygen."

"Neurodegenerative Satiety Deficiency Syndrome!" Hodgins beamed. "Instant zombie! Oh, man! I knew that article wasn't a hoax!"

"Not just zombies," said K. "In the wrong hands, this stuff's capable of producing an army of zombies and a fairly self-sustaining one at that, provided they're not vaporized or shot in the head."

"Self-sustaining? You don't mean they make the beast with two backs?" Hodgins grimaced.

"They increase their numbers in the usual zombie way," K said, nodding. "Until last week, there was only one crystal left in the entire Universe."

"If it has to be inhaled," Hodgins scowled before continuing, "then our perp–wouldn't he be—"

"_She_," said K. "A female from the Zolanium Galaxy, naturally immune to the virus. But she'd need privacy and plenty of space to raise her own, personal zwammerdam. Where'd you say the remains were found?"

"Anacostia," said Hodgins. "Near an abandoned tenement called The Tombs, but if that's where the crystal is, how did it get here?"

"It was stolen from a crash site near Afghanistan."

"Afghanistan?" Hodgins paled.

K pointed at the microscope. "Agent P was investigating a possible suspect right before he died."

"Cam's never going to believe this," said Hodgins, "and Booth'll go ballistic." He shook his head.

"Then we need to find someone who will listen," said K, "because when the zombie apocalypse hits, we're going to need all the help we can get."

* * *

><p>vii.<br>Fare's Fair…

"Are you sure this is it?" The driver eyed the crumbling brick building and the filthy squatters passed out in its doorway warily. "If you ask me, it doesn't look very safe, Miss."

"It is, and I didn't," Hanna said, glancing at the three men–new recruits–fresh, too, from the look of them. _Nice to see the others have been busy,_ she thought. _The more the merrier for our visit to the Jeffersonian this evening. _Then, shifting in her seat, she said, "How much?"

"Ten," said the driver. "You bitch," he added under his breath.

After fumbling in her purse, Hannah handed him a bill through the slotted metal screen.

Turning, he scowled. "Hey, what about my tip, lady? Most drivers wouldn't be caught dead down here! Twenty-five percent!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Hannah's hand disappeared into her bag again. It reappeared clutching another ten. "Here you go." She moved closer to the screen.

The cabbie's eyes brightened. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" He leaned in to take the money, but stopped when the hand opened, and its owner blew a puff of powder in his face. "Hey, what are you—" His eyes rolled back in his head before he could finish. Choking, clawing at his throat, he lurched back against the door, and then slumped over the steering wheel.

"Here's a tip for you, 'bitch.'" Hannah pocketed the bill as she slid out of the cab. "Mind your own damned business!"

* * *

><p>viii.<br>The Reluctant Recruit

"That's wonderful news!" Zack beamed at his friend across the cafeteria table. "I'm so happy for you both."

"Oh, but I have even better news," Jack said enigmatically.

"Better than a baby?" Zack scowled a moment, but then his features lit up. "You found an unsolvable theorem!"

"I found something way better!" He glanced from side to side, and then, turned to look behind him. Besides Zack and himself, the only other person in the multi-purpose room was a man in a wheelchair at the far table. He seemed to be staring out the window, but looks could be deceiving. As much as he hated to admit it, Zack was proof of that.

When they were face to face again, Zack, who'd been mimicking his friend's movements, looked very confused. "Did you lose something?"

"Just making sure no one's eavesdropping."

"Oh, that's just Henry. Hi, Henry!" Zack waved at the man, who neither moved nor blinked. Shrugging, he turned back to Hodgins. "He's catatonic."

Directing his gaze upwards, Jack scowled at the security camera in one corner of the room. "You sure there's no mic on that thing?"

"Stop it, Hodgins! You're starting to make me paranoid!" Zack leaned across the table. "Visiting hours are almost over. You said you found something. What?"

Jack whispered, "What if I told you that while working on this new murder case, I discovered a virus that's out of this world?"

"A new strain, you mean?" Zack nodded eagerly. "That's incredible! Congratu–"

"No! Not a new _strain!_" Jack glanced furtively about before continuing, "An _actual alien_ virus!"

Zack's features clouded. "By 'alien,' you mean…"

"Extraterrestrial!" Jack smacked his hands on the table. "One that turns humans into zombies!"

Zack folded his arms tightly across his chest and huffed. "I'm supposed to be the crazy one, remember?"

"I'm not crazy, and neither are you!"

"Keep your voice down!" Zack glared at him.

"Oh, man!" Exasperated, Hodgins slumped in his seat and put his head in his hands. "Of all the people in the world, Zack, I thought that you…" trailing off, he looked away.

Neither spoke for a long time. Finally, Zack said, "You're really serious, aren't you?"

"Dead serious – _Walking Dead_ serious–and we could really use your help."

"We? You mean Doctor Brennan is–"

Waving, Hodgins cut him off. "A very special friend of mine. A secret agent who polices alien activity here on Earth." Jack pulled his chair closer to Zack's. "He's busting you out of here tonight!"

Zack snorted. "That's impossible."

"You did it once before."

"For a few hours and with Dr. Sweets covering for me. What you're suggesting is…" He shook his head. "They'll catch me and put me in prison. I don't want to go to prison, Hodgins. They make you wear a jumpsuit. I don't like jumpsuits." He grimaced. "I don't like the idea of _being _jumped when I'm not in my jumpsuit!"

"No one's going to jump anyone!" Seizing Zack's scarred hands, Hodgins looked at him imploringly. "This _will_ work – I promise! Just do what he says, and you'll be a free man! You'll never see the inside of this place or any place like it, ever again!"

"You know how crazy this all sounds, don't you?" Zack said quietly.

"Saving the world crazy! This case–I–we–really need your help, man. What do you say?"

Zack nodded weakly. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

* * *

><p>ix.<br>Body Count

Booth poked his head in Cam's office. "Hey, glad I caught you. Metro Police just called."

Cam dropped her coat and attaché case. "Another body?"

"Our sole witness." Booth leaned against the doorframe. "Jo Constantine. She had a seizure in the holding cell."

"She tried to fake and run, you mean," said Cam. "Back when I was a cop, the pros and junkies used to pull that stunt all the time. They shoot her?"

Booth shook his head. "The officer I spoke with said it was the real deal: thrashing, eyes rolling, foaming at the mouth. He said she cracked her head open on the way down – blood everywhere."

"Sounds like a seizure, alright," said Cam.

"Here's the kicker. She bit two officers and a paramedic before they got her into the bus, and at least two members of the hospital staff. The ER Doc said her temperature was over 107 when she died."

"Bit them?" Cam's eyes widened. "Didn't she tell you she'd been bitten?"

"By none other than our John Doe."

"A bite that causes foaming at the mouth, aggressive behavior, and death – all within a few hours of exposure?" Cam winced. "Oh, I'm not liking the sound of this, Booth."

Booth shifted nervously. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Hrmm…" Cam crossed her arms and hugged herself. "If you're thinking Rabies, the symptoms are there, I'll give you that, but the pathogenesis doesn't fit. Rabies requires a much longer incubation period. Weeks, in some cases." She looked away. "Unless…"

"Some kind of super strain." Booth nodded. "Bioterrorism."

"If that's the case, we'll have to alert the C.D.C. and Homeland Security," said Cam. "If you thought the guys from the G.S.A. were territorial, just wait. What about the other bite victims?"

"All treated and released," said Booth.

"Figures," Cam grumbled, "but right now, our suspicion isn't enough to raise an alarm of that magnitude. We need hard evidence, and we won't be able to compare anything until his lab tests come back, and there's been another autopsy."

Booth chuckled. "Wow, for a minute there, you sounded just like Bones!"

"What are they doing with the girl's body?"

"They're sending her here."

"I'll let Security know." Cam picked up the phone. "We'll quarantine her overnight, pending autopsy."

"Overnight?"

Cam shrugged. "I want a better idea of what we're dealing with. In the meantime, you can watch the area hospitals for more bite victims." Seeing the dismayed look on his face, she added, "Hey, it's not like she's going to get up and run away!"

"You sure about that?" Crossing his arms, Booth leaned against the doorway. "Of course, if you had other plans for tonight…"

From years of experience, she knew that look and that tone of his. Cam sighed. "I'll sign for the remains myself and start a preliminary autopsy. Will that make you happy?"

"It's a start." He started out. "Call me when you find something."

"Oh, you know I will," she said, adding under her breath as she watched him leave, "So much for having a life."


	3. Part III

I still don't own the rights to _Men in Black_ or _Bones_. They still belong to their respective creators and I'm still just borrowing for a bit of non-profit fun. 

* * *

><p><strong>The Contagion in the Crystal<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Part III: Interlude<strong>

A Suite on the Roof of the World (aka the Sheraton)

About 7,700 miles and a day away, a cell phone buzzed on a nightstand in a hotel suite in Lhasa, the Tibetan capital city. Its owner, who'd been pondering the 'thing' he seemed to have for beautiful doctors who hung out with dead people, picked up. "J here," he said in a whisper, since the latest example of his 'dead man's doctor thing' lay dozing beside him. Shifting slightly away from Temperance, he listened for a moment, and then said, "Understood. Yeah. No, Zed, I really can't… I'm not.." Whispering harsher, he said, "This really isn't a good time to…" Leaning back, fingering the spherical gold medallion around his neck, he sighed. "Right." Then he glanced at the phone's display screen. "Yeah, I got it," he began, but then realized Zed was no longer on the other end. "And good day to you, too, Boss," he muttered.

"Goo… da," she murmured.

J waited. When he was satisfied that she was still asleep, he opened the email's attachment, which contained a portion of an article, and began to read:

_The Zolanium virus, which enters the bloodstream, attacks the brain, and prefers the cells of the frontal lobe, in particular, for the replication process. Although the reason for this preference is still unknown, what is known, is that during this process, which causes rapid apoptosis…_

"Apopto—what?" He hadn't meant to say it aloud. Scowling, he reread the passage under his breath, "—causes rapid apoptosis."

"Cellar-oor… deahf," she said, then snuggled deeper into her pillow.

'Thank you,' J mouthed to her. Settling back, he continued reading, partially aloud.

—_infected subjects appear deceased, but are, in actuality, in a state of dormancy. This state of suspended animation seems essential to the viral mutation process, wherein the body's dependence for oxygen is eliminated. Once mutation is complete, the newly-reanimated "host" organism, while capable of a number of limited motor functions, appears devoid of all cognitive processes, other than the urge to infect new victims via biting them, thus introducing infected saliva into the bloodstream, or by spraying them with contaminated droplets of saliva or blood._

"Shit, Zed," said J, perhaps a little too loudly this time. "You gotta be kiddin' me."

"What are you reading?" Propping herself on one elbow, Temperance Brennan smiled up at him.

"Dr. Schlozman's article on Neurogenerative Satiety Deficiency Syndrome," he said.

"Schlozman?" Blinking, she sat up. "His work on the so-called 'zombie virus' was declared fraudulent a long time ago. Surely, you knew that?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "Zombification is a ridiculous superstition, rooted in Haitian folklore. What is your interest in it?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Uh, Tempe, there's something – I haven't been completely," J began.

"Honest? About not being a doctor?"

"You knew?"

Shrugging, she said, "I'm a light sleeper. You had me at 'apoptosis.' Besides, you dress more like an F.B.I. agent." Snuggling against him, she chuckled.

"Something like that," J said.

"You're not F.B.I.?"

J shook his head. "M.I.B."

"M.I.B.?" She scowled. "I've never heard of that agency. What is it?"

Settling back against the pillow, J said, "What if I told you that I belong to a secret organization that monitors extraterrestrial activity on this planet, and that my boss just told me my partner is working on a case – a murder investigation – one involving zombification – with your colleagues at the Jeffersonian right now?" Before she could answer, he added, "What if I _also_ told you that within the hour I am flying us both back to the States – to the good 'ole U-S-of-A – in an impounded spaceship – a real, honest-to-goodness U.F.O.? What would you say?"

"Before getting you an emergency Cat Scan?" Her eyes twinkled.

"Cat Scan… shoot." J laughed in spite of himself. Then, leaning in to her, he said, "You don't seem shocked by any of this."

"While parts of sound implausible, it still makes more sense than your being a doctor." Before he count reply, Temperance said, "But tell me, J, if you did have a spaceship, where would you hide it?"

"The one place no one ever thinks to look." Removing the medallion, J laid it on the pillow between them. "In plain sight."


	4. Part IV

I still don't own the rights to _Men in Black_ or _Bones_. They still belong to Lowell Cunningham and Kathy Reichs, and I'm still just borrowing them for a bit of non-profit fun.

**The Contagion in the Crystal**

**Part IV**

* * *

><p>Flash &amp; Dash <p>

The guard, who'd been watching _Twilight Zone_ reruns, nearly fell out of his seat when someone knocked at his window.

"Sorry to startle you," said a voice from outside. "Special Agent…" A muffled something-or-other followed, then, "I'm here to interrogate…" but a gust of wind swallowed the rest.

Feeling sheepish, the guard turned to the window, slid the bottom portion of the safety glass aside, and peered into the rainy night. "I'm sorry, sir, what did you—" he stopped when he realized the man in the dark sedan was wearing sunglasses. In his hand was—

"What the hell," the guard began, right before a bright light flashed.

After the driver of the sedan entered the building at the end of the long drive, a series of bright flashes marked his journey through its winding corridors.

Finally, he turned down a narrow passageway and entered the sanitarium's 'Restricted' annex.

"Hey," the guard there began, "where do you think you're—"

Another flash followed. Footsteps sounded on polished tiles, an iron door opened, two men – one of whom was the guard – entered a tiny room with barred windows. Ignoring the room's resident, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, the guard slipped around the other side of the bed, lay down, and fell fast asleep.

"Agent K," said Zack, without a trace of surprise in his voice. "Hodgins said you'd come."

"Ready to stop the apocalypse, kid?"

Zack shrugged. "I guess."

"Then put this on." K handed him a black plastic bag.

"What's this?" Zack pulled something dark and heavy from the garment bag.

K beamed. "That, my friend, is the last suit you'll ever wear."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Zack deadpanned.

* * *

><p>ii.<br>The Chick in the Cooler

After cancelling her dinner reservations and mentally kicking herself for doing so, Cam paused for a moment's reflection. While her relatively new digs in the Jeffersonian offered much better ventilation and lighting than the cramped, windowless, cinderblock basement she'd had in Brooklyn, in the end, even she had to admit that they were just a more sanitized, stainless steel-clad, chromium plated version of an all-too-familiar Hell – only this Hell was serviced by a better educated class of demons.

Her stomach growled.

Back in New York, she'd have called Happy Panda Pavilion, and right about now, would have been enjoying her egg rolls and Lo Mein, but here in D.C., even Chinese takeout – especially Wong Foo's take on takeout – psychic Chinese cuisine – was at best, a challenge.

_No,_ she thought, _make that a downright pain in the ass._

"Okay, Reuben and fries from the Founding Fathers it is, then, and when my arteries explode, it'll be Booth's fault." She reached for the desk phone.

"Hello? Dr. Saroyan?"

Cam gasped. When did the phone ring? She hadn't heard her phone ring; she'd been sitting right here in front of it all along. Suddenly, her office seemed much too large, too silent. Even the rain outside – and when had it started raining, she wondered – seemed too muffled.

"Dr. Saroyan, are you alright?"

The male voice – one she didn't recognize – on the other end sounded genuinely concerned.

"This is Dr. Saroyan," she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

"Good evening, Doctor. This is Micah."

She scowled. "Who?"

"Micah – from Security? I work nights, so I don't think we've ever met."

_Whatever._ "Yes?"

"Your delivery's here, Doctor."

"Thank you, Micah, I'll be right down." She could hear something that sounded like shuffling on his end.

"No, don't," he said. The sudden, shrill edge in his voice suggested either impatience or fear.

"It's no trouble at all, Micah," Cam said. "I'll be working—"

He cut her off. "No, Doctor – Cam – stay where you are."

There was no mistaking it this time. Rising, Cam said, "Micah, what's going on down—"

"There… it… h-h-he… ohohoh it can't – he can't – it – it – I – I…" he trailed off for a moment and what sounded like a struggle. Then returning, he said breathlessly, "There seems to be a… a… Oh God, noooo!"

A '_thunk_' and strangled scream followed.

Gripping the receiver as if it were the lone life preserver in a remake of _The Poseidon Adventure_ – a particularly bad remake, starring Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber, and Martin Lawrence in drag as Belle Rosen – Cam screamed back, "Micah? Micah!" Throwing it on the desk, she turned, just as the alarms and caution lights activated. Shocked and dismayed, Cam watched as her office door and the sliding glass doors to the autopsy suites and lab beyond automatically locked, effectively sealing her inside the vault-like Jeffersonian. As her reflection flickered in the flashing yellow lights, over the institutional intercom, an electronically-generated voice confirmed her worst fears:

"Quarantine. Quarantine. Effective Immediately. Quarantine…"

To her left, something moved. Moving cautiously to the glass door, Cam peered into the hall.

Hannah Burley stepped out of the shadows.

Cam tugged at the door. "Hannah? What are you—?" She stopped. Behind Hannah, something moved in the hall's gloom.

Eyes wide, Cam pounded on the glass door. "Hannah, behind you!"

Something slow and clumsy that, when it emerged, dimly lit by the institution's emergency lights, became two somethings – one male and one female. One had a hole in his chest and the other had blood clots in her spiky, black hair.

Backing away from the door, Cam gasped, "That's not – it's not—it can't—"

Smiling, Hannah approached until only a thin pane of safety glass separated them. "Don't worry, Cam, my friends won't hurt you. That is, unless I tell them too."

* * *

><p>iii.<br>She's Not There

Rain drummed steadily on the roof of the SUV as Booth entered Anacostia for the second time that day, unsure of what he would find, but knowing only what he _didn't_ want to find. Hannah hadn't been home when he returned from work at five. That wasn't unusual, so at first, he didn't worry. By six, he thought she was probably still pissed and trying to teach him a lesson by staying out late – probably having drinks with some friends from the Press Corps – another thing she did on what was becoming an all-to-regular basis – but by seven-fifteen, his intuition kicked in with a monotonous and undeniable litany: _Bad, bad, bad!_

He switched his high beams on and slowed by an abandoned building. In a bygone – but now long gone – day, its ground floor had once housed a store of some kind, while its other three floors were apartments. Now, what was left of its display windows looked like jagged teeth surrounding a blackened, gaping maw: crooked fangs that flashed as they caught the ambient light from the SUV's headlights. Graffiti covered the brick front of the next building. The next was a burned out shell – he remembered that from his morning visit.

Up ahead, through the glinting rain, his lights caught a flutter of yellow. His stomach knotted. After a silent, _Please God, don't let it be her,_ he tapped the gas, but it turned out to be only a broken section of crime scene tape.

Exhaling silent relief, Booth inched the black Denali down the garbage-strewn street. If he wasn't mistaken, her so-called rendezvous point was around the next corner and half a block down. A tenement called 'The Tombs.' The word made him shudder. For one thing, it was just a little too oracular – too prophetic.

It was also too damn close to the crime scene.

He tapped the gas, churning flumes from a puddle in the street, and rounded the corner a little too hard.

Outside the tenement, a yellow cab idled in the middle of the street.

"What the hell—?" Swerving to avoid it, horn blaring, he grazed the side of a bullet-pocked, gutted sedan on the opposite side of the street. The scree of metal against metal set his teeth on edge.

When he'd cleared it and the remains of the stolen car, Booth threw the Denali into park and glanced in the rearview. At the same time, which was also roughly the same time he realized the cab had no lights on, Booth pulled his pistol from its holster and switched off the safety.

Keeping one eye on the taxi as he slid out of the Denali, Booth noticed that the noise from the near-accident had drawn a small crowd of onlookers from the rendezvous tenement. About a half-dozen, from what he could see at a glance. Gun trained on the cab, he flashed his badge with his free hand as he sloshed up the street. "F.B.I.! Go back inside."

Slack-jawed and vacant-eyed, the crowd shuffled down the steps of the tenement.

"Hannah? Hannah can you hear me?" Booth hollered. By now, he'd reached the cab.

The driver lay slumped against the door's broken window.

"Haaaa—aaah! Haaarrr—aaarr!" Advancing, mimicking him, the crowd began chanting hollowly, inhumanly.

"Did you hear me? Get back!" He fired a warning shot.

"Baaa—aaa! Haaahh-aaarh!" The sound of their voices mingled with the drone of a low-flying plane.

As they continued to shamble towards him, gibbering and growling, Booth recalled a line from a poem he'd read in high school: "Like a vapid, ghastly river, through the pale door, a hideous throng rush out forever, and laugh, but smile no more." Poe's hideous throng had nothing on these guys, he thought. Grime matted their hair and clothes; something dark smeared their open mouths. They were also seemingly immune to the effects of the weather – as well as pain. Booth winced, as one barefooted woman lumbered through shards of a broken bottle without so much as a blink.

These thoughts were followed by his witness' statement about her trick-turned-attacker. The growling, then the—

Rough hands pulled him against the car. Caught off guard, Booth flailed, losing his grip on the pistol, which landed, spinning, on the roof of the cab.

"Shit!"

The hands tightened. Booth staggered back, pulling the driver – who now seemed very animated – through the window. As he emerged, gnashing his teeth, he attempted to climb Booth like a tree.

_Biting. She said the guy bit her and then she— _

But he barely had time to register the thought. Behind him, around him, the crowd was circling. Closing in on him with arms outstretched and jaws snapping; exuding clouds of coppery stench with each atonal utterance.

_Blood. It's—_

Hands tore at his clothes, his hair, his skin, and as the mob pulled him down, a roaring filled his ears.

_No way I'm gonna end like this._ Booth began punching and kicking.

On either side, the streetlights blazed like beacons, becoming brilliant and blinding until they simultaneously exploded. The ground trembled and red rays zinged through the rain. Sizzling through the drops, they connected with their targets, reducing them to mist in an instant.

"Totally awesome," said a voice that sounded like Jack Hodgins.

Somewhere, a cell phone was ringing.

"Agent Booth," said another eerily familiar voice in the darkness, "are you alright?"

Then, the ringing stopped.

"Wha—a? Who-oo?" Still struggling, a confused Booth looked up.

Zack Addy stared impassively down. "I think he's okay, Agent K," Zack said.

"Good work, son. Let's get him in the car," said a voice Booth didn't recognize.

"Zack? What're you—and who's—?" Booth began.

"Oh, man! I thought you were a goner!" Hodgins said from over Zack's shoulder. Hastening to where Booth lay, Hodgins helped pull him to his feet, saying, "Zombies, man! They're real – can you believe it! Oh, and you're never gonna believe who's responsi—"

K cut him off, "That's enough, Jack." Clapping Booth on the shoulder, he said, "That was a darned close call, Agent Booth." He handed Booth his pistol.

"Yeah, thanks," he said to K. Then, turning, he said, "Hodgins, is that mine?" Booth nodded to the cell phone in Jack's hand.

"Oh, right!" Handing it back, Hodgins said, "That was Hannah, by the way." Glancing nervously at K, Jack said, "She knows you're here, Agent K."

K stopped. "Hannah? That's what she's calling herself? Well, closest thing to her native tongue, I guess. What'd she want?" But he already knew.

"Hannah," Booth panted. "She didn't come home, so I – where is she?"

"She's got Cam," said Hodgins. Turning to K, he said, "She wants her ship back – or else."

"Of course she does," said K, "it's not like she can walk back to her home planet." He chuckled.

"Got – hunh? Why? Where?"

Seeing Booth's flummoxed expression, K quickly said, "Looks like we've got some catching up to do, Agent Booth," he started moving towards a dark sedan in the middle of the road: a Crown Victoria with all four of its battered doors thrown open. "We'll fill you in on the way."

"Where are we going," asked Booth.

"The Jeffersonian," everyone who wasn't Booth in the about-to-be-flying car said.

* * *

><p>iv.<br>Cat and Mouse

"For the record, Hannah, I never liked you." Wishing she could wipe that smug look off Hannah's face – and would have, if she hadn't been trussed to her office chair like a Thanksgiving turkey – Cam glared at her captor. "I never liked you and Booth together, either. You're nothing but a bleached blonde, opportunistic little tramp."

"Spare me the bilge from your primitive limbic system," seated across the desk, Hannah yawned before continuing, "or I might just lose my patience, like I did with Agent P." She nodded outside the door, where Sean Pegg, wearing nothing but a vacant expression and black autopsy sutures (neither of which were terribly flattering), shuffle-paced with Jo Constantine, Micah, and a handful of equally unfortunate Jeffersonian Security Staff members. Two of these unfortunates, still clad in bloodstained, head-to-toe, white Hazmat gear, had become hopelessly entangled in their oxygen supply tubing. Writhing on their backs on the hall carpeting, they looked like tethered, toppled snowmen.

Leaning in, drumming her fingernails on the desk top in time with the still-flashing lights, Hannah said, "Let's try this again, Camille. I know you must've found it, so tell me: where is it?"

"Maybe if I knew what 'it' was, I could help you with that," said Cam. "Care to give a girl a hint?"

"I don't see why not." Hannah leaned back in her chair. "I'm looking for a spaceship. _My_ spaceship, to put a finer point on it. A few friends of Agent P's impounded it after I crashed in the desert last week. I'll be needing it, once I've finished here." The corners of Hannah's mouth twisted up. Her full lips parted.

Seeing those tiny, impossibly white, and impossibly sharp teeth flashing inside that equally improbable grin of Hannah's made Cam shudder involuntarily. _Seeley Booth, when I get out of this, you're the first one I'm coming after,_ she thought grimly. _Oh, and I will get out of this._ Then, she said, "Um, I don't think there'd be room for something as big as a—"

"It's compressible." Hannah demonstrated this by closing an imaginary distance with her hands.

"Oh. Guess parking's not much of a problem where you're from, is it?" When this failed to produce a response, Cam cleared her throat and said, "Point taken. Right. So, your spaceship is the size of a – a – a compact?"

"Smaller," Hannah said. "More like a medallion: round and gold with a big red jewel in the center."

"Sounds very pretty." If 'pretty' could be found on a continuum between terrifying and batshit insane.

"Superior minds produce superior things," Hannah said.

_Except that slavery still seems to be part of your so-called superiority._ Shifting in her seat, which caused the bonds around her wrists to tighten uncomfortably, Cam said, "I'm curious, Hannah, why zombies? Aren't there more sustainable methods of mind control on your planet?"

"Sustainable?" Hannah gawped at her. "You want to argue eco-politics,now?"

"They seem very self-limiting." Cam glanced at the shambling figures in the hall. "There's a definite shelf life at work out there."

"Only on this planet." Leaning in, Hannah said, "So, have you seen it?"

"Your spaceship?" Cam shook her head. "Nope. Can't say that I have."

Hannah slipped a hand into her coat. "Pity." Withdrawing her closed hand, she placed it on the table between them. "Guess you'll just have to help me look for it."

"Not a chance in Hell," said Cam.

"Oh, I beg to differ, Camille." Hannah opened her hand, revealing a small mound of white powder. As she leaned closer, she raised the hand to her lips. "In fact, you're about to acquire a 'shelf life' of your own." Locking eyes with Cam, she drew a deep breath. 

* * *

><p>v.<br>Rid of Me

In the hallway, red rays flashed, reducing the zombie guards to smoke wisps. A single shot rang out and the glass wall of Cam's office shattered, cascading down in a glittering cataract. Pistol in hand, Agent Booth stepped in front of the opening. Close behind him, carrying what looked like white plastic penlights, were Hodgins, Zack, and Agent K.

Aiming his weapon as he stepped around Booth, K said, "It's over, Hannah. Drop the Zolanium. Drop it and put your hands on your head – now!" He started through the ruined wall.

"You know those little ray guns only work on carbon-based life forms." Still open-palmed, Hannah nodded at Cam.

"Maybe they don't, but I seem to recall that bullets have an effect on you, Hannah – or whatever your name really is." Booth stepped through the broken wall. "Drop the Zolo—" he waved the gun at her hands before continuing, "—whatever it is, and no one gets hurt." He inched closer to her.

"Don't be a hero, Booth," said Cam.

"Good advice," said Hannah. "Take one more step, Seeley, and I'll turn you both into meat puppets!"

"Look, maybe there's a way to resolve this without making anyone a meat puppet," said Zack.

"Really? Because I don't see one," said Hannah.

"Just hear me out." Dropping his pen-ray and with arms outstretched on either side, Zack stepped into the room between Booth and Hannah.

"Oh, God, Zack – don't!" Cam moaned.

"If I'm not mistaken, we have something you want."

Hannah took a step toward him. "My ship!"

"So I propose we make an exchange."

Hannah closed her hand, but didn't lower it. "Go on."

Zack gulped, then said, "The ship for the Zolanium."

"Dude, are you crazy?" Hodgins gestured from the hallway. "She's killed at least a dozen people with her alien zombie dust! You're willing to just let her go?"

"For once, I'm with Hodgins," said Booth. "It's one of your worst ideas, ever!"

Zack shook his head. "It's the only logical solution."

"Logical, yes," Hannah paused for a moment before continuing, "and acceptable."

Down the hallway, something rustled in the darkness, but no one seemed to notice.

"There's just one problem with that plan," said Agent K. "I don't have the ship."

"But I do." Temperance Brennan burst into the room. A gold medallion with a red jewel in its center dangled from her neck.

"J, nice to see you," said K. "Your timing's perfect."

"As always," said J. "Is that who I think it is?" He nodded in Zack's direction.

"Doing great on his first day." K nodded. "Think he's going to fit right in."

"That's a relief," said Zack. "I've been told I don't assimilate well."

"Bones, don't. You don't know what she's capable of," Booth started to her.

Waving him away, Brennan said, "Shut up, Booth, I know what I'm doing. And how many times do I have to tell you, don't call me 'Bones.'" Stepping to Zack's side, she slipped the medallion off and proffered it to Hannah. "I believe this is yours."

Smiling, Hannah opened her hand, revealing a small mound of whitish powder. "And I believe this is yours!" She blew the powder at Brennan's face.

"Dr. Brennan!" Throwing himself between the two women, Zack took the full blast of the Zolanium dust.

"Oh, Zack, Zack," Cam groaned.

"I knew something like this would happen," said Booth. "You never should've sprung him from the looney bin."

"Oh, just give him a minute," said K.

"K, what are you talking about?" J punched his partner in the shoulder. "The crazy alien just turned him!"

K smiled one of his trademark knowing smiles. Then to Zack, he said, "Just shake it off, kid, you'll be fine."

"Oh, he'll be just peachy, K." Hannah's hand reappeared with more powder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late for a warp jump."

Zack scowled. His features seemed to shrink upon themselves, his eyes squeezed shut, and he took a few steps back.

"Sorry, but that wasn't part of our deal," said K.

"What are you going to do about it?" Hannah leered at him.

"Aah-aahh-aaahhh," said Zack.

"Oh, good," said Hannah, "it's—"

"CHOO!" Zack's sneeze erupted, spewing slimy green droplets all over Hannah's face. She staggered back, clawing at the impossibly thick goop, but then, her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled to the floor.

"Nice job, Agent A!" Stepping inside, K clapped Zack on the back. "Here you go." He handed him a handkerchief. "Uh, keep it."

"I don't understand," said Zack.

"Me neither," said Booth. "Why didn't he turn into a zombie?"

"Oh! Oh! I know," said J. "It's because he's not from this planet."

"What?" said almost everyone.

"That explains a lot, actually." Dr. Hodgins beamed. "I can't wait to tell Angela."

"I'm not human?" Zack looked stricken.

"Well, human enough. You're from Plularia, a tiny solar system near the Zolanium Galaxy. When your planet started imploding, your family placed you in an intergalactic adoption program, which makes you one of the last surviving members of your race."

"So I'm immune to the Zolanium virus?"

K patted him on the back. "Not immune, but capable of rapidly metabolizing the chemical into an extremely powerful paralytic agent." Pointing at Hannah's inert form, he said, "Thanks to you, she'll stay that way until she can stand trial."

Throwing his arms around Zack, Hodgins cried, "Way to go, buddy, you saved the day!"

Hugging them both, Dr. Brennan said, "Think this makes you all-time 'King of the Lab!'"

"Uh, hello," piped Cam from behind them. "Hate to interrupt your party, but, still hog-tied here!"

As Booth started to her, from the hall, someone said, "Nobody move!" and a handful of men in sunglasses and trim, black suits stormed into view.

"Oh, hey, fellas," said K. Turning to Booth, he said, "Sweeper Crew."

"'Bout time, too," said J. "Hey, Q, make it stick this time – and happy!"

"Roger that, J," said one of the men, producing a long, metal tube from his breast pocket. "Now, if you'll all look this way… right here," he said to Booth, Hodgins, Cam, and Brennan.

"Is that a Neuralyzer?" Hodgins' eyes gleamed. "Oh, man, we're about to be _tabula rasa-d_!" Turning to Zack, clasping his hands, he said, "Catch you on the flip side, buddy."

"No, Hodgins, you won't," Zack said sadly.

"No worries, Jack," said K, "it'll be the best memory you never had."

Then, a brilliant light flashed.


	5. Part V: Coda

_Men in Black_ and _Bones_ are the creative property of Lowell Cunningham and Kathy Reichs. Just borrowing them, as well as referencing some characters created by Charlaine Harris, for this last bit of banter. It's been fun! Thanks for reading!

* * *

><p><strong>The Contagion in the Crystal<strong>

**Part V: Coda**

* * *

><p><p>

New York, Wednesday Morning, Galactic Standard Time

Ensconced in his egg-shaped seat in the pristinely decorated conference room at M.I.B. Headquarters, Zed regarded the three agents seated around the white oval table blearily. From the room next door, came the muffled sound of something shattering. This was followed by equally muted – although not muffled enough for his liking – bursts of 'Too-whah-kah,' 'Pooh-whah-kha-kha,' and something that sounded like a very loud and very wet raspberry being blown through a very thin set of something resembling lips. Some things never changed. Sighing, Zed removed his glasses. As he started to clean them, he said, "Gentlemen, we have a situation."

"I'll say," said Agent K.

"Yeah, if that was the Mocha Latte, I know some worms who're gonna get they heads busted," said Agent J.

"I don't think he's talking about coffee," said Zack, who was slumped in his seat. "You weren't referring to the coffee, were you, Chief Zed?"

Replacing his spectacles, Zed glared over their top rims at his newest recruit.

K chuckled. "The end of the world again, Zed?"

"Not yet." Zed leaned on the table. "Pack your bags, boys, I'm sending you to Bon Temps."

"Bon Temps?" Zack scowled. "I've heard that name before…"

"Well, I hear that part of Louisiana's lovely in the springtime," said K. "What tempest's brewing in today's teacup?"

"It's a tempest, alright. A clash between vampires and the Fay." He pulled out a sheaf of papers. "While you three were chasing the Zolanium dragon in D.C., these were hitting the newsstands in Bon Temps." He slid each of them a copy of _The National Enquirer._ "You know what this means, don't you?"

"Faeries, Good to the Last Drop," K said, reading the lead story's headline.

"My Ex-Girlfriend Stole Twenty Years of My Life," said J, reading the sideline, which featured a withered and enraged old man. "Aw, Zed, the Fay? Seriously? You know how I hate all their face-shifting, slipstreaming, mind-bending, cloak-my-world bull crap!" He shook his wrist. "And I just bought a new Rolex – shoot!"

"Vampires? Fay?" Zack sat upright too quickly, banging his forehead on the egg chair's top. "But I thought _True Blood_ just a TV show," he said, rubbing his sore head.

"Reality TV," Zed nodded, "more like a weekly documentary series chronicling what locals are calling the 'Supernatural Assimilation' down there. Supernatural…" He chuckled. "Well, for once, they got part of it right."

"So, vampires are aliens?" Zack looked genuinely perplexed.

"Not vamps – or shifters, for that matter," Zed said. "Both are species indigenous to this planet and essential to its evolution. The Fay, however, _are_ an alien race – refugees from a dying star who sought amnesty on Earth. For years, they lived among us in their cloaked reality and there were no problems. But then, when they started mating with humans, the vamps discovered them, and well, you can guess what happened next."

"It's something in their blood." Zack said. "Vampires can't get enough of it. As a result, the Fay are nearly extinct."

"I need you boys to corral the rogue vampires," Zed said. "Shouldn't take you more than a day or two. Your contact down there's a local girl and Fay hybrid: Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse."

"Our contact?" K grimaced. "From what I hear, she's more of a double agent – that is, when she's not a free agent. You never should've allowed her parents to—"

"That's so typical, K! Play, 'I told you so,' when there's a war on!"

"I thought you said there wasn't going to be a—" Zack began.

"Oh, there's always something," said J. "You'll get used to it."

"After that rush job in D.C., I thought it'd be good for the kid here to have a proper orientation," said Zed. "You boys make him feel comfortable."

"Will do, Zed." K started to rise.

"So, you watch _True Blood_, eh?" J said.

"Yeah, those vampires will sleep with anyone – and for that matter, so will Sookie," said Zack.

"What's your point," asked J.

"Well, I could be anyone. How do you think she'd feel about sleeping with an alien secret agent?"

"Don't even think about it, kid," they all said.


End file.
